


Take a Break Tonight

by dreamlittleyo



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, M/M, Protectiveness, Romance, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 02:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15281250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: A quiet moment.





	Take a Break Tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aidennestorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aidennestorm/gifts).



> Prompt: [Brighten](https://dreamlittleyo.dreamwidth.org/103669.html)

Washington knows his life is damn near perfect; there are moments he is so fiercely happy it feels like his heart will explode. He is not a religious man. He does not entertain superstitions or believe in anything like destiny. He's certainly never done anything to deserve so much _good_.

And yet he is here. He has everything he's ever wanted. It doesn't seem possible.

Sometimes when he looks at his boy, he _aches_ , because he cannot believe Alexander is here.

The quiet moments are the most improbable. The late nights, the easy calm, the glimpse of a face so different than Alexander shows the rest of the world. Both versions are real—both of them are _true_ —but the quiet and doubt and affection... 

Those are private. They're for Washington alone to witness, and the knowledge of how much trust they require occasionally makes his heart pound.

It's taken a very long time to reach this point. Years. An immeasurable eon for Washington's own complete trust to be returned even in part, and longer still to find level ground.

He watches Alexander now. Asleep in what must be an uncomfortable sprawl across more than his share of the couch. Alexander's feet are in Washington's lap, and the legal brief he was reading has fallen to the floor, pages scattered into chaos. A highlighter cap rests against the front leg of the couch, but the highlighter is nowhere to be seen. Washington doesn't spare the mystery much thought. He would much rather consider his boy.

Despite the awkward angle, sideways and half curled in on himself, Alexander looks more relaxed than Washington has seen him in weeks.

_Every_ trial is a challenge into which Alexander throws himself without mercy, but this one is worse than usual. High profile, the kind of criminal defense that could make or break a career for even a well-established attorney like Alexander. All the more desperate because he believes his client is innocent. His career would recover from a loss, but Washington suspects the damage to his spirit would be staggering.

Surmountable, yes. But he would move Heaven and Earth if it meant sparing his boy such pain.

Alexander will win this case regardless. And then Washington will corner him and drag him out of the country on a much-needed vacation. Alexander will whine and rant and argue that he's too busy for a vacation, but his arguments will crumble. After all, if Washington can manage the time away from running an entire law firm, surely Alexander can dodge his own responsibilities for a week or two.

He wishes it were not such a battle every time—that he did not have to _fight_ to make his stubborn, ambitious Alexander take a break once in a while—that Alexander could understand he is worth taking care of.

Alexander will probably be furious at himself when he wakes. Angry about falling asleep, even though he needs the rest. It's part of the reason Washington hasn't woken him yet. There's too much chance that instead of _going to bed_ , Alexander will brew a pot of coffee and stay up all night. Better to let him wake up with a stiff neck than wake him. If the night is far enough gone when he comes around, there's even a chance Alexander will muddle his way to their bed.

If keeping still and letting his boy sleep improves those odds even slightly, Washington is happy to take the chance.

It's not as though this is a hardship. Friday night, a book on the end table beside his glass of wine, a pleasant quiet drifting warmly through the apartment. A single lamp near Washington's end of the couch brightens the living room with a soft and unobtrusive glow.

Just enough light to illuminate his boy.

The circles beneath Alexander's eyes are darker than usual, even in the forgiving lamplight. His hair has come loose, elastic band lost somewhere in the couch cushions. The dark strands have gone staticky, framing his face and spreading across the pillows beneath his head. One of Alexander's arms hangs halfway off the couch, but the other tucks tight against his chest, obscuring the Columbia logo on a raggedy t-shirt.

That t-shirt is so old it's not even the same color it used to be. Washington teases his boy about it, but they're both in on the secret: Washington loves it. He loves the threadbare fabric and the soft way Alexander wears it.

The line of Alexander's throat is bare, and there are eloquent bruises just above the neckline of his shirt. Already fading. It's been far too many days since Washington properly spoiled his boy. Distracted as Alexander has been with work—with this damnable trial and all the ruin or glory it might bring—he's been coming home late or not at all, always laden with work even when he's here.

Washington doesn't begrudge his dedication. God knows Alexander isn't the only one who puts work first. Washington's own case load bleeds over into his personal life all too often. It's the nature of the job, and he is not hypocrite enough to be annoyed at Alexander for falling into the same awful habits.

He fully intends to stay motionless on this couch for hours if that's what it takes to make Alexander rest. The sight of his boy at ease is well worth any physical discomfort the stillness might earn him. Taking care of Alexander is worth it, and more than enough to keep Washington right where he is.

He does not care about the dirty dishes in the kitchen (they will keep), or his own tower of case files waiting in his study (he will have time enough this weekend). He cares only about the stubborn, reckless, exhausted man taking up nearly the entire couch. There is no space in Washington's thoughts for anything beyond Alexander. And if tonight is one of those nights where his chest aches with disbelief that Alexander is _his_...

Well. It's a feeling he is very much accustomed to. If he hasn't managed to banish it in the ten years they've been together, then there's no point agonizing over it now. Alexander _is_ his. That is what matters.

Alexander stirs after far too short a time, barely an hour since the highlighter fell to the floor. A slow stretch as he uncurls, a grunt as he turns his head on the arm of the couch, and then a single fumbling hand scrubs at his face as sleepy eyes blink open. The disoriented, squinting expression is enough to draw Washington's mouth into a fond smile.

"Are you all right, my boy?" He sets his book aside and strokes a soothing hand along Alexander's calf. "Did you fall asleep?"

"I must have." Alexander braces one bent arm beneath him and glances over the edge of the couch, at the careless cascade of loose paper. "Fuck. So much for _Draper v. Michigan_."

Washington chuckles, and the sound is warm with affection. He lets go when Alexander tugs both legs out of his lap and kicks them over the edge of the couch. Alexander sits upright, smooth motion barely interrupted by a sleepy wobble.

"What time is it?"

"Late. We should both be in bed."

"Hmm," Alexander breathes. Noncommittal as the sound is, Washington senses unexpected victory. Alexander did not press him for a real answer; his boy must be even more exhausted than he looks. "Fucking hell, the whole side of my neck is tingling. How long was I out?"

"Come to bed, Alexander," Washington says. "I'm sure a back rub will help."

"I'll fall asleep again if you give me a back rub."

"Obviously," Washington agrees warmly.

Alexander gives a wry snort, but there's a hint of smile on his face, and a slump of resignation in his shoulders.

"I should clean up first." Alexander waves a careless hand in the direction of the paper-scattered floor.

"Tomorrow." Washington stands and turns to face his boy, reaches down to take both of Alexander's hands in his own. " _Draper v. Michigan_ isn't going anywhere." He gives a tug that urges Alexander grudgingly to his feet.

"My highlighter will dry out." The protest is more teasing than earnest this time, and Alexander follows when Washington begins guiding him down the hall toward their bedroom.

"I'll buy you new highlighters. An entire pack of them in green." He's never once made fun of Alexander's staunch preference for green highlighters above all others; it's just one more strange and perfect detail painting the complete picture of his boy.

"George." Alexander stops in the open doorway, pulling Washington up short.

Washington turns to face him, raising one eyebrow in silent question. He expects Alexander to speak—always the endless font of words—but for the moment there is only silence between them. Familiar, comfortable, unhurried.

Then Alexander moves, forward into Washington's space. He leans up, not quite far enough for their mouths to meet—he's not tall enough to kiss Washington without rising onto his toes—but close enough to make his objective clear. Washington doesn't keep him waiting; he ducks his head, closing the distance and meeting Alexander halfway.

It's a sleepy kiss. Easy and tired and warm. And when it ends, Alexander draws away smiling. Ducks his head as though to hide the exhausted grin softening his expression, or maybe it's to look at their hands, still curled loosely together in the space between their bodies. Alexander untwines his touch and traces the band of gold circling Washington's left ring finger.

"I love you a lot, old man." Alexander speaks the words like the easiest truth in the world.

The burst of affection in Washington's chest nearly overwhelms him, as he touches the matching ring on Alexander's hand and kisses his boy again.


End file.
